


Scraps, Waifs, Spares and Ghosts

by nachttour



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Body Horror, Character Death, Clones, Fuck Or Die, Genetic Diseases, Multi, Noncon sex, Parasites, Rape/Non-con Elements, Tension, broken bone mention, conditioning/altered mental state (psiionic), dead dove do not eat, fungus, hurt-comfort, please mind your tags, slavery mention (psiionic), space-horror
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-18
Updated: 2017-07-15
Packaged: 2018-11-02 08:14:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10940523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nachttour/pseuds/nachttour
Summary: Scrapping in space and staying a step or two ahead of the law, the kids and their guardians find an old derelict floating near the Fringe of Alternian space. What they find inside will challenge their troll business-partners in ways that they could never imagine. (Containing one deranged no longer empress, clones, space opera, multiple non-embodied intelligences, biowire, and lots and lots of bodies!)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Heedless Oblivion](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4044640) by [orphan_account](https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account). 



> Revisiting a fic that I started in 2015, orphaned and kind of left. However, I really, really loved this premise! Space-horror was an underutilized element of MSPA particularly after Murderstuck. So! We're back, we're in the saddle, we have an even bigger plot and we're doing this thing! Title changed because the dynamics and intent of the story have also changed somewhat. Enjoy. :D

**Condesce** : 

_ When the fades found you, you knew that your voyage was over.  _

_ The technicians screamed at their consoles. This was not productive and you disapproved. The noise was cacophonous enough that you headed toward the interior of the ship and let your command staff do their glubbing jobs. Somewhere behind your thoracic supports you knew that there was nothing to be done. Avoiding all of it -- the thrashing and the blood made it less real. Precautions had been taken to keep this from happening. Every body that had passed through the doors had been screened. Still, the ship was not a sterile space, your empire was vast, and sometimes you had to stop. Someone brought it aboard.  _

_ Instead of bearing witness like you should have done as a living deity, you sat with your ever-companion at the base of his pillar and you waited to see how things would shake out. Perhaps at first there was some hope in your mind. You thought that maybe you could change how the outcome would go. There was the possibility that the reports about this carp were wrong or exaggerated. Who in the fleet truly could resist a reelly big whopper of a story?  _

_ Command practically thrived on a very active and intense bullshit contest. In this one instance every coddamned word was true. True and perhaps a bit understated.  _

_ The shit turned the air foul. Soured the water. Even the Generals were not safe in their tanks. Soon enough the water turned murky, spoiled from the rotting bodies inside. The vents stopped working when the ancillary helmsmen went down. All small functions of the ship that were not regulated by your personal servant ceased.  _

_ Your companions were the biowires curving and coiling above you, trying to reestablish connection with data that was not being transmitted. Silence folded in slowly like the hadal zones of the oceans at home just before you descended into your lusus’ many arms.  _

_ You had made sure that she was taken care of - there had been talk of a Glub. This was not that. That was not a thing that was supposed to have happened. None of this was supposed to have happened.  _

_ If you cried, no one saw you because they were all dead. Your companion did not see you because he did not care to look at you unless ordered to. Not even with the many eyes that he had installed inside of his larger shell and outside of his body.  _

_ He started vomiting blood around the third night.  _

_ You put him in a bio-stasis pod and plugged him into the wall. Sopor killed just about everything in it, other than trolls. It was your hope that it would be enough. Between the sterile pod and your powers he would live.  _

_ He would always live.  _

_ You were the Empress. _

_ You willed it and it would be.  _

_ When the strings started to cloud your vision you wondered. This was not natural. You had pupated into adulthood long before any of this had ever happened. Still, lethargy overtook your body while blood dripped out of your orifices. Had the Old Man been here he would have damn near orgasmed over the sheer amount of pigment to make paint out of.  _

_ You were so far from home.  _

_ Maybe you would wake up somewhere different and somewhen different. Maybe this would not have had to happen.  _

_ You were Her Imperious Condescension and you went to sleep in a dead ship with your Helmsman, a binary system of two stars of life in a swathe of corpses.  _

* 

**[Dave]**

“That shit is so haunted that I cannot even words Strider. I cannot words. There is no way I’m working this job. Take someone else. Fuck that with both of my bulges.” 

Hearing Sollux Captor say so many things that had voiced dental fricatives was sort of the best part of his day. Still, there were bills that needed paying and usually Captor was his best Alternian contact after Karkat. Said beau was still laid up and stashed safely with Jade and Rose on the  _ Void Walker _ and was not involved in this discussion. Had he been, the hilarity factor would have gone up in increments of ten with every passing minute that they continued to communicate. Karkat had the angriest boner for Sollux and it had gone from threatening to vastly hilarious to watch. 

“But see here’s the thing. Dirk said that it was good. Still viable, no pollutants scarier than some of the other shit we’ve salvaged. And you don’t find that quality of alloy anywhere dude. No where. Where is it that it is to be found? Oh wait, we cannot reach that place because it does not exist. Some of those alloys have been gone for millennia. It’s a metallurgist's wet dream. I know that we kind of both thought of Zahhak there, but let’s just bring it back.” 

Sollux had not disconnected nor blown up his interface so this line of questioning was looking promising. Instead the pilot was looking at his overlays and frowning. “I don’t feel this, Dave. I mean it. If you need a tech consult, you can call but I’m not getting on that ship.”

“Is this a case of like spooky troll shit?” 

“Spooker than you have a right to know. There’s a fuckorgy of terror in there and I don’t want any part of it.  _ Dualist _ out.”  The feed cut abruptly and attempts to reconnect were rebuffed. Dave sighed, massaging around the connection jack in the back of his neck. Dirk turned at his station and tilted his head. 

“Real smooth there.” 

“Shut the fuck up dude. It would have taken forever for the two of you to stop fucking talking about code and the call would have taken double the time for the same answer. Dude’s fucking stubborn and he won’t be cajoled.”

“Captor’s creepy-vibe is usually dead-on. Maybe we should skip this one.” 

“The bills argue very strenuously that we should not.” 

Dirk nodded, pulling up a readout of their financial situation. Some things were in the red and could not be left unattended. “If it were anything else I would be down. But...” 

“It’s John and Jake.” His best friend for as long as he could remember. The love of Dirk’s life. 

Dirk’s mouth pulled into a hard and unpleasant line. “Starting docking procedures. The computer’s AI is...insane. To use a human word for an inhuman thing. It’s giving me gibberish and nonsense. We’ll have to treat this whole ingress as entrance into a hostile situation.”  

* 

No one in their right mind would take their helmets off in this kind of a situation. Even though readings indicated that the air was mostly breathable if a little high in neon, it was sort of courting bad luck to assume that everything was safe. Dave did not know a lot -- his life had been kind of short when compared to some of the other clones from their facility. However, what he understood empathetically was that space wanted to kill you. It wanted to kill you dead. If one gave space the chance, space would make it’s move like a stone-faced one-legged bounty hunter off of Nabunet who knew that you owed someone money. Given then that the ship was alien and unknown and their sensors were not entirely sure what they were sensing, all contact equipment stayed firmly in place. 

Dirk always took point in these situations and had done so again. Dave wished that he could be as assertive and generally deadly as both Bro and his older sibling, but wishes really did not amount to shit in the cold screaming void of space. His light bobbed carefully along the walls, down the floors, up along the vent systems and then in front of them in a continuous circuit. 

“It’s really goddamn quiet.”

Dirk did not look back, but nodded his agreement. The com-equipment in their headsets was sensitive enough that Dave could mutter under his breath and get picked up without being overly audible to those that might be surrounding them. 

“I mean really truly. We’ve been in a lot of wrecks and some of them were horror-vid status but I think this one takes the cake. I think that the cake is gone. It has been swept into the arms of another and that pastry will never see the light of a sun again.” 

Walking through the docking bay had been surreal. Mummified technicians and dockworkers  lay in piles and strange positions. Some were draped over broken and dusty consoles. Others were laid out on the floor as if they had been rolling or writhing.

On top of being disturbing, the hanger was huge. The trip across it had seemed to take double the time that it should have. 

“So I’m guessing this was probably a Destroyer or something high up in this society. It kinda looks trollish? But I can’t read what’s on the wall. Is the dialect old?” 

Dirk’s eyes flashed briefly orange under his visor while he cross-referenced a few things with his alternate consciousness stored at the ship. 

“HAL says it’s antiquated Alternian. Some of the verb forms and patterns aren’t in use anymore. The grammar’s a little weird. That’s why we were having trouble talking to the computer -- it doesn’t understand us either. Poor thing. It’s really damaged.” 

“We’re not adopting another AI. Dirk. I swear. No. Ours is gonna get territorial and then eat it.” 

“I’m--HAL’s not like that.” Dirk’s tone was quiet, but playful. 

“Anyway, I wouldn’t. This system’s too corrupt -- it might damage our flight nav.” 

“You keep the scary computer shit away from DS. He’s my boy.” 

“Uh huh.” 

Any further talk of their mirrored consciousnesses stored away on the ship ceased. They had reached a fork in the hallway. 

“Do we want to go right or left?” 

Dirk chuckled humorlessly. “You don’t want to split up?” 

Dave shook his head. “No fucking way.” 

“Let’s go left. There’s more bodies that way. Anyone knows that anything worth finding is in the scarier place.” 

“Of course.” Dirk turned on the top light on his encounter suit and headed down the darkened hallway. 


	2. Binary System

**[Dave]**

Left turned out to be less terrible than he predicted and more frustrating. The walls teemed with an infestation of old-school biowire. This was a good thing for business. That particular breed was known both for strength and its resilience, as well as its ability to accept different levels of energy conduction within a short set of breeding modifications. The bad thing about old-school Alternian Imperial biowire was its inclination to burrow. Falling into a nest of it with exposed skin would go bad faster than deciding to sucker-punch Bro in the gut. Both experiences were likely to end in blood, but only one of them would eventually lead to death.

Something about the color and old Alternian technology nagged at him but the thought was not forthcoming. Maybe it would return to him later or he could ask HAL and his encyclopedic databases about whatever it was. Snapping a picture with his helmet-cam he stored it, and the curious impulse that came with it away for later review.

Some areas of the hallway were so clogged with sheets of magenta tendrils that they had to circle back to avoid being lovingly embraced by alien flesh-plants. Starring in his own private tentacle-hentai was not on Dave's to-do list. Particularly not with Dirk as a co-star, though he had thoughts on his brother's willingness to participate. There were other times and places to be stripped naked and caressed by moist non-human appendages, but in a dead ship was where Dave drew the line.

Dirk had to find the whole process as tedious as he did, but neither of them were going to tag out. They were entrenched so deep that it might be time to start thinking about commitment and joint credit accounts. They were in this adventure and backing out now would just make it awkward later.

What it was that they were looking for though, was slightly unclear.

“So how far do you want to scout before we check back in with base?”

Bro would be fretting-without-fretting via his com link and staring at their progress as they moved through the ship. Both of the AIs would have sensors on them as well that could be dedicated to other tasks.

“I want to get the lay of the sections that still have semi-usable atmosphere and figure out why we're getting life-signals. Most of the ship is depressurized and there's nothing breathable.” The pulse of Dirk's lens-overlays was soothing to Dave in moments of uncertainty. If Dirk was alive and thinking his eyes were lightly glowing, though the effect was not ever-present. Always the tactician, Dirk had made sure that the dimming function worked in conjunction with brain-response to environment. Stress, fear, or discomfort turned off the light-show.

“That said, there's this section and another up a few doors where there are emergency bulkheads. It is my assumption that they actually did their jobs and engaged during the initial crisis. That section of the ship has livable conditions showing. Maybe our survivors are there.”

Dave frowned.

“I guess.”

Anyone that survived the level of insanity surrounding them likely was not sane nor friendly. Still, Dirk had a sense about things in the same way that Sollux did. If there were survivors they would find them.

Getting around the bulkheads was going to be a challenge. The doors stood at ten feet and towered above the pair of them. Neither of them were small per human standards, but everything around this craft was oversized. It was another mark against wanting to encounter the owners of the ship.

“Sooo, what now?”

Dirk stood with hands on hips, observing the lines of the hallway. “I think we have to go up and over. The vents don't seal nearly as tight as the doors.”

Dave stared upward at the ductwork. “If this ship has defenses on par with the doors, I don't know if we could get through shutters along the ventilation system.”

“Really only one way to find out about that. You wanna stay down here?”

“Nah. Carry me like your interstellar prince.”

“Pff.”

Pulling his hover-board out of storage, Dirk tweaked the settings to adjust for a two-person load and ascended toward the ceiling. The grate was more secure than they expected. Dave stood to one side, acting as a counterbalance while Dirk took a screwdriver to it. That transitioned to taking a sonic drill to the edges. With a screech, the lattice fell into Dave's waiting hands and eventually to the floor as they dropped it. The clang echoed down the hallways and bounced off into oblivion.

“Well.”

Dirk looked at the fallen metal. “Yup.”

“If they didn't know that we were here before they sure as fuck do now.”

“There's nothing wrong with being announced.”

Pulling himself up into the darkness over their heads Dirk found a foothold and offered arms down. An absurd part of his brain expected Dirk to suddenly disappear into the shadows, pulled by something unseen that they had disturbed by boarding.

“We're going to need eyes up in here, don't look down if you don't have to. Some of the wire-nests have root-systems or tertiary branches. I can't really tell where they come into the ducts, the light's a little low.”

“Great. I know I wanted to be the star of a tentacle porno.”

“They'll just rip off a limb or two as they have no understanding of what sort of stresses our bodies can withstand. I don't think they'll really start probing. That's not the job of the systems that line walls. They like unbroken lines. Better transmission that way. Curves make them mad.” Of course he would know. There was a year or so of testing that Dave preferred not to think back to.

“Not helping.”

Wiggling up into the echoing space, Dave knocked his head on the ceiling of the vent and sighed. A small mercy in the scheme of things came in the fact that the vents were bigger than some that he had crawled through in the past. That likely was to accommodate the sorts of technicians that needed ten foot tall doors.

The rooms they passed over were more of the same that they had initially encountered – dead technicians thrown around like children's dolls after a particularly bad tantrum. There were some empty glass containers that looked like they might have been aquariums once. Many of these had dried out plants and skeletons nestled into rocks or furniture that presumably would have been submerged. The more that they saw, the less that Dave cared to look.

Ahead of him, Dirk paused once in a while, staring down into rooms and surveying. “I think it might have been biological?”

“Probably a good idea that our filters are still working then.” Never before had he had been quite so grateful for Bro's anal-retentive maintenance schedule. Perfectionism in certain spheres was something that he and Dirk shared, but it was more useful when it came to continued survival in the field.

Dirk continued musing as he moved carefully around a collapsed section of their passage, helping ease Dave over it . “The weird thing is that there were no pods launched. If it were biological and it had a slow rate, one would assume that there would have been a few selfish idiots who tried to run.”

“We'd have to check over the crew manifest to confirm this idea. Being that all of these beings are hella-incredible-dead I don't want to put in that effort. I want to steal their technology like the stellar-waif that I am and sell that shit on the black lists to the highest bidder. Let's just focus? And while we are focusing could we maybe not tell Rose? If she gets wind of this we're never leaving.” Dave did not care why all of these trolls were dead. They were trolls – the horn shapes and fangs reminded him of Karkat and Sollux. Their other Alternian trade partners shared similar anatomy.

“You're boring. We'll need to set up a decomp field at very least. The rest of my thought on biologicals is this: if this was so fast acting that no one fled, we don't want to take it back to the ship.”

Worst day ever.

At least this was Dave's thought until the panel under him gave way and he went crashing through the vent and tumbled to the darkened wet floor below.

*

When he woke up, Dave was on the ship. Losing time that epically did not make sense. Wiggling his fingers and toes everything responded. Sitting up, he found his leg in a splint and healing gel working away at an inflamed break. That would explain the ship. Compound fracture meant bone sticking out of the skin. In turn, bone sticking out of the skin meant that the necessity of helping him overrode further creepy-exploration. This was a better thing, all things considered. Glancing to his left he found his sister sitting and quietly thumbing along her tablet, reading something with tiny text.

“You're gonna ruin your eyes that way.”

“I suppose then that we would just grow me a new pair.” Her mouth curved into an easy smile. “Welcome back. The sedatives that Bro used on you worked a little too well and you missed all the fun. Also, do not get up or sit up too quickly, we think you are healing a minor concussion.”

“Who fixed my leg and how long have I been out?” It was probably a better thing that he slept through the setting of the bone – medical issues held no interest to him. His body was a tool and he needed it to function correctly in order to draw ugly comics, make sick music and continue to hunt for the most ticklish part of Karkat.

“You've been down for about nine hours. And Horrus did the work.”

Shit, they got Bro's older-than-dirt doctor-buddy to work on him. They usually reserved calls to the dude for serious shit involving troll significant others or issues that required someone with surgical knowledge. “Fuck me.”

“I'll pass.” Rose tapped away at her screen, rearranging a few things and pulling up pictures. “Beyond not finding your genitalia exciting, our offspring would lack sufficient genetic diversity.”

Swatting weakly at her nearest thigh, he winced at her. “You are a disgusting monster.”

“I love you too. Here are some of the highlights of your trip.”

Of course either Dirk or HAL would think to start taking video when they encountered something interesting. After securing his unconscious body, Dirk glanced around the room that he had fallen into, illuminating it with one of the floating mini-suns that they had developed for cavernous spaces.

The room was huge, the movement of Dirk's head gave him a sense of how tall things were. It had been both functional and decorative at some time in the past. There were faded out pennants and banners rotting and fraying on the walls. What appeared to be metallic paint, glitter, or very tiny and numerous gemstones winked along various surfaces. Earlier in their exploration there had been hints of water being part of the interior design of the place, but this room sold it. It looked half like some sort of pool at a resort or an exhibit of saltwater creatures.

A few feet from where he hit the ground there was a pool of standing water that appeared to have leaked out from another pool-like enclosure. Being the cyborg that he was, Dirk walked through the shallows of it - investigating further. In the deeper parts of the water sat what appeared to be a giant bun, or bean, or a cocoon. Simply looking at the image, Dave could not rightly tell what it was that he was observing.

“Spoil me. The mad scientist got interested in whatever that business right there is and brought it onto the ship.”

Rose paused the video, nudging the time-slider forward with a finger. “Basically, yes. He was curious about it, he and Bro and Roxy built a decomp field and now it's sitting in the hull in the guest tank.”

Dave hissed slowly out of his teeth. “You realize that we're setting ourselves up for a horror-vid chain of events right?”

Smoothing her hands over the surface of the tablet, Rose seemed to agree. “Bro and Dirk both had eyes on it. So did Roxy and Mom. All of them seem to think it's okay to have, and aren't disturbed by it.”

“That is the whole nerd-squad. What were Jade's thoughts?”

“She was a touch off-put and would like to come and cuddle soon, if you are amiable.”

Given that she was slowly succumbing to the same thing that the rest of the Harley-English set were, Dave found it very difficult to tell Jade no. “Send her in and she can talk biology to me.”

Rose received a notification on her wrist-com and left her tablet up for him, the image paused on a glowing tube. There were two life-signals. The mystery would have to wait until he was legal to be up and about.

**[Bro]**

“You are Brodrick Strider the First, thank you much and you can handle this shit.” Mouthing his favorite mantra to himself, Bro looked down at the stasis pod Dirk had brought onto their ship. It was a pod full of trouble brought from a Dreadnaught full of woe and ghosts. The troll inside was remarkably well preserved if somewhat emaciated. The dude seemed to have hit his adult molt, his horns had the banding and patterning he would expect from someone in full maturation. His skin had the kind of deep, charcoal-black that happened too. However, he was a gold.

If the timestamps on the ship, his pod, and everything else were to be believed the man sleeping ought to be dead. Granted he seemed closer rather than farther away given his physical condition. The decision to pop the pod open had not been arrived at lightly. Some of the seals were failing from age. Introducing bacteria into ancient sopor might have unwanted effects. So rather than dealing with a medical crisis outright, they would just wake the guy up and see how he did.

That had been the plan before Dirk saw the access-ports.

The game changed significantly after that.

Bro had seen his share of helmsmen. Old-school engines were sad and painful. Once in a while when salvaging a ship he had come across them hanging abandoned in their pillars. Once or twice he might have mercy-killed.

He was a tiny bit jealous of some of the newer ones and their seamless integration of psionic power and data interface. Sollux was the poster-child for third-gen pilots. The guy roamed freely around his vessel and stopped in to a pilot's niche once in a while to synch his ports and internal rigging with the ship and get a checkup to make sure that his body was handling the conduction of his energy safely. Other than that he retained his bodily autonomy and boasted one of the fastest midlevel ships in the Alternian fleet.

Reform for the ships had come with his matespriitship to the current Consideration and her activist tendencies. It was by no means perfect everywhere, some of the old-guard admirals in deep space had no time or interest in ship-overhauls or individual rights of psychics.

Something told him the sleeper was probably old-school. He would have to be careful. Once the seal broke on the pod several things happened that he could not have counted on.

The pilot sat up and free of the slime, his eyes pulsing in a red-blue cadence to match his hammering heart. Behind him a door slid open and loud, unusual footsteps entered his workroom. Delogging his sword Bro rounded and found himself face to chest with the armor-plating of a Drone.

He had seen one once in an informational vid. Up close the thing was more solid and pants-shittingly terrifying than any sort of footage could have captured. Because it was tall he would have to go low and trust that they were not fast nor—sopor splashed around his clothes and his mind went hazy.

Trying to orient himself was not easy. The sleeping pilot had a very long tongue halfway down his throat and was tugging feebly at his suit, jamming zippers down with slippery hands. In any other situation this would have been hotter than hell and a little unexpected. Now it was awkward and fuzzy with the introduction of alien sleep medication and Brutus the murder-insect standing in silent vigil. It delogged (what the fuck, Drones had moduses- he learned something new every day) a bucket and fell into what seemed to be an 'at rest' posture.

Looking at the pilot and his shimmering eyes, Bro hoped for Universal Common being a language that the dude spoke. If not they were in for a world of hurt.

“Pailing? Is that what's happening here? Because I'm really lost and I'mma need some help before we get the no-pants party on the road here.”

Snagging him by the back of the neck the pilot brought their mouths together again – the points of his teeth nicking Bro's mouth. Either he was not verbal or too scared to answer. Pulling back and stepping down out of the pod he hooked his arms around the guy's chest, guiding him out of the slime. If they were going for this, it would have to be out of the goop – being able to think clearly was a prerequisite for any sort of action in the pants department.

Whining in the back of his throat the troll pulled him close again, hands dangling at his sides. Psiionics then, that explained how he had made such a fast trip into the pod in the first place. The pilot's body was sad – a mass of scarring and healed over burns and the crests and dips of ribs that should not have been visible. Still, he pressed his hips along Bro's and rubbed, trying to encourage. The mystery of the drone would be solved presumably after there was a spunk donation. The only way to do that was to really get into this and get business taken care of. If there was something that he knew, it was how to handle junk.

Smoothing a hand down the troll's suit he found the terror-slick weight of his bulge. Smoothing his hand around it he let the organ wrap tight around his wrist and wiggled his fingers down to the base, squeezing and stroking in alternating rhythms. Bringing a second hand to join the first he worked his way down lower, finding the slick folds of the man's nook. This part of trolls always kind of weirded him out, being a phallus-oriented sort of a fellow. That said, gender was a human societal construct and this was an instance of survival. There was a place just along the inside of the hips that he had found most of his troll lovers went crazy over. The pilot was no exception. The man folded down around him, pleasured buzzing filling the air. The drone stepped closer, the pail clanking against its armored leg.

Looking up into the strobing of the guy's gaunt face Bro offered a half smile. “You'd better hope the thing is crazy. I'm not a troll and it should be able to tell that. It won't like a singular donation.”

The troll pressed down onto his fingers, bumping his forehead against Bro's and shivering. A few flicks of his fingers later and the pilot stared at the drone, disengaging and floating over to settle over the bucket. Bro's pants unzipped neatly, falling down around his ankles and the half-chubby he had been working on found a new life. He'd been an exhibitionist from a young age, and now it was time to put that kink to work. He was doing God's work here – this dick could save a man. Telling himself this made it a little less terrifying to kind of uncomfortably squat while a gigantic alien stranger literally floated on his manhood.

Three or four thrusts in and there was a dripdown of a deep ochre material into the bucket. He was not done by any means, but it was not an orgasm that needed to be chased. Instead of attacking like he expected, the drone inspected the bucket and meandered away, presumably back where it had come from.

“DS and HAL, WORK ON THAT.” Gritting his teeth at his computers who would very shortly be getting a very major retrofit if that whole situation were not explained and detailed to him, he scrubbed his groin off and pulled his boxers up. That was the most unsatisfying and unnerving sex that he had ever participated in.

“So. Hi.”

The pilot sat on the ground, body stained and jumpsuit gaping open. Walking over, he quietly zipped the dude up.

“My name's Brodrick. You can call me Bro if you like. Everyone else does.”

The pilot blinked slowly, turning his head and watching him move through the space. Things were getting a little surreal.

“I know that Drones kind of turn on a fuck or die thing in trolls' heads? Someone explained that to me once. I get that. Just... for future reference we'll find you a different partner. I didn't want to do that and I have a feeling you might not have either.”

His companion remained sprawled, almost like a marionette with cut strings. Bro raked his fingers through his hair, walking over and taking a knee next to the guy. “You're safe here. . No one's going to hurt you. Do you understand what I am saying to you?”

The pilot inclined his head minutely. Glancing over at his workstation his tablet was shimmering with activity. Pulling up his chat client he found a long list of messages from an unknown user.

BC: I am sorry.

BC: I am sorry.

BC: I am sorry.

BC: I am sorry.

BC: I am sorry.

BC: I do not want to die.

BC: I am sorry.

BC: I am sorry.

BC: I am sorry.

BC: I am sorry.

BC: I am sorry.

BC: My name is the Battleship Condescension

BC: Hello Bro.

BC: I did not want that.

BC: I did not want to hurt you.

BC: I'm sorry.

BC: Did I hurt you?

BC: Behavioral Protocols engaged.

BC: Timeout beginning.

BC: 20 seconds remaining...

BC: 10 seconds remaining...

BC: I do not want to go back.

BC: I am tired.

BC: I understand you.

BC: I understand.

BC: I can hear you.

BC: hello.

BC: hello.

Looking between the tablet and the guy on the floor, Bro began to feel not only sullied and unusual but a bit disturbed. There was no visible way that the pilot could be interfacing with his system that easily unless his hardware was more advanced than he had accounted for. This was a possibility and would have to be rectified. The possibility also existed that the dude's hardware was old, degrading, and very painful.

TT: hello BC

TT: you didn't hurt me.

TT: I don't want to do that again under those circumstances or without talking about it first dude.

TT: but I'm not hurt.

TT: Do you not want to talk with your voice?

TT: Or are you unable?

TT: Would you prefer that I type to you?

BC: interface with the system however it feels more efficient.

BC: the system hears you.

BC: the system understands.

BC: it is easier to speak to you this way.

BC: thoughts are clearer in text.

BC: the system has not spoken in a long time.

BC: it is not allowed.

TT: that is some evil empire shit right there dude.

BC: no.

BC: it is wonderful.

BC: it allows for a harmonious and structured working environment.

Oh damn this guy was think-programmed. It was something that the really old and crazy ships struggled with. This guy still had 'I' statements though, which was interesting. Maybe he would like to chat with the boys and he could feel safe asserting personhood. At this point all things were possible.

TT: I see. Well I'm glad that you see and hear me.

TT: I see and hear you too. Are you in any distress? Is the pilot experiencing pain? Do you require maintenance?

BC: the pilot is experiencing high anxiety.

BC: the pilot is experiencing rapid heartrate.

BC: the pilot is experiencing disorientation

BC: power inputs null

BC: sensors null

BC: biological sensors only

BC: emergency donation completed

BC: maintenance is recommended

Stepping forward Bro took a chance. Smoothing his thumbs along the guy's temples he rubbed slowly, following the dip of what would be a temple on a human back and up to the bases of the guy's horns. He had a set of two, which was kind of cool, and he swirled his fingers slowly around the bases, humming. For every stroke the air around him ran thick with static and he could see the hair on his forearms rising.

TT: I'm sorry to touch you so intimately.

TT: do you have a moirail that I can contact for you?

Once in a great while the ships they salvaged could locate a favored technician who still lived. Instead of leaving the pilots greatly injured and half crazed they instead got to stay with someone who knew them. Instances like that were Bro's favorite outcome but not regularly occurring.

This had been a great day for really dubious consent, but the disturbing visual of the guy's heart hammering under his ribs guided his actions more than any nascent desire to gain control. When he was calm they could figure this shit out – who the pilot was, what he needed and more importantly how in the hot fuck a drone had gotten onto his ship.

BC: I am alone.

BC: they are all dead.

BC: they are all dead.

BC: no

BC: ships do not have need of quadrants.

The pilot leaned forward slowly, resting his face against Bro's chest. The points of his horns almost touched his jaw. The feeling of laying in a lightning storm intensified. Sparks danced off of the screws holding his shades together.

BC: the pilot's heartrate is returning to recommended levels.

BC: proceed with maintenance when ready

Easing forward so as to be better to rest against, Bro looked down at the crown of the pilot's head. Some of the burns extended up and near his horns as well. They had worked him too hard for a long time. Smoothing hands down along his shoulders and the bumps of his spine, he shushed against his horns in his best imitation of a shoosh. He'd had a submissive who liked to roll over for him in a xeno-imitation of pale. He explained that the sound was a decent alternative to the buzz that trolls felt when shooshed.

TT: I'm going to hold off on working on you until I have a more seasoned tech with me.

TT: you okay with that?

BC: the system relies on the judgement and expertise of its technicians.

BC: please help.

BC: it hurts.

TT: can you tell me where it hurts?

BC: Ports 1-9.

BC: Wire-rot?

TT: That's no good dude. You wanna sleep until we can work on you?

BC: No.

BC: I want to stay awake?

The chat conversation closed itself. Bro glanced down to find his pilot watching him calmly. Patting his shoulder lightly he got his feet under him to get up. “I'm going to get you something warmer to wear. And get a pile set up for you.”

The pilot curved his mouth up in a half-smile and nodded. The window on the tablet reappeared, their previous correspondence erased.

BC: please budget your time accordingly.

BC: you have a nice bulge for an alien.


	3. Press Restart

**[Dave]**

Getting up out of med was going to be a thing. This became apparent as soon as Jade made her way in. The rest of his group were protective and he could understand why, but sometimes it was a touch smothering. Turning to face her, he put on his best lazy smile. 

"So what is the likelihood that I get to go see what cool trouble Bro has gotten into?” 

“Exactly zero.”  Flopping down into the bunk with him, his buddy and sometimes lover bumped her cheek into his and kissed his jaw. 

“You had minor surgery and fell from a high air-duct and your head is even more scrambled than normal. That sort of limits your participation to nothing.” 

“That is zero fun.” 

“Shouty boyfriend is going to be docking in about an hour. Then there will be two of us in here griping at you. Should up the fun quotient a touch.” 

Letting out a long-suffering sigh that he did not actually feel, Dave tucked her close. 

“Shouty boyfriend is also damaged goods and should be I dunno-recovering or some shit?” 

“You and shouty boyfriend share a non-endearing trait of not listening to medical guidance. You make me and Horrus crazy.” 

“Sorry.” 

Applying a tactical noogie to the top of his head, Jade shook hers. “Worried is not a good look on you. It’s fine.”  

“That whole...thing is resolved though? At least that’s good.” 

“As much as it’s going to be.” 

Quiet settled between them and Dave wound his fingers slowly through the curls and curves of Jade’s hair. “You should relax too.” 

“Don’t you start.” 

“I’m just saying. You know it isn’t anything too serious. You don’t have to get mad.” 

“I’m not mad. Not yet. Just don’t fuss.” 

“I just want to make sure that everything is chill with you. They already mentioned that stress isn’t good. It exacerbates shit.” 

“We just had a conversation about worrying - you don’t have to worry about me and I don’t have to worry either. If it gets like John and Jake then I’ll put myself in deep-cryo like they are. But I don’t have the tremors really bad yet and nothing else is malfunctioning. It’s fine.  _ I’m fine _ .” 

Jade gritted the last out with the force of someone trying to tell themselves a lie so real that it superseded reality. Instead of arguing with her, he kissed her forehead. 

“Any news on the cocoon? I want to see if it does anything cool. I don’t break my bones for boring shit. Only hilarious or epic shit.” 

Jade grumbled at him, but pulled her tablet out, switching over to a video feed of one of the holding spaces. The cocoon sat awkwardly propped in a tank, most of the way submerged. Squinting at it, Jade smiled. “It sort of is shaped like a skate egg, or maybe a shark. There were old earth critters that birthed stuff that looked like that. Scared the shit out of the passengers. Well, one of them. Young and angry and entitled wanted to change ships. When we discussed the price of that he shut his trap.” 

“Of course he did. Apparently that is something typical of his surname’s line.” 

~

**[Bro]**

Doing workup on helmsmen was a bitch and two-thirds. Hacking blueprints was hard and took time, connection to Alternian servers that held the sort of information that they needed was costly and required a slight course-correction to allow for signal strength. The whole of it had a stress headache pounding through his temples and he was no closer to answers on most of his questions than he had been at the start of this entire fiasco. 

At least there were a few things that had been solved. The Drone lived on the ship they were working on, apparently the legitimate ‘Battleship Condescension’. This was rumored to be a ghost ship and had a host of attendant insanity attached to it. Dirk was working on the lore and what actual information could be chased down about it while he worked on the pilot. The Pilot who he did not have a good name for yet was settled in a pile of laundry and pillows and a few boxes just for textural difference and a swirl of intercrossed wires for the sake of familiarity. Port-caps sealed up all of his ports and Bro had found a pair of sleep-pants that could tie onto the guy’s thin hips. His arms and some of his hands were swallowed up in one of the most comfortable cotton hoodies that he had -- a prized possession as far as textiles were concerned. Jersey probably was something that kings and queens in old civilization wore because it was soft -and- stretchy. It seemed like his pilot needed something nice instead of the cavalcade of bullshit and spandex blend that he had been given before. 

Dude was interesting certainly. Once he and Dirk got his biological failsafes figured out, he lounged on the pile like a long, dark and glowing king. His hair fluffed out around his face like a dandelion now that it was dry and free of sopor. Once in a while he giggled, but it did not seem to be out of mirth necessarily. Some of the ships that he had met seemed perpetually lost in their own heads, used to being by themselves and not interacting with others. Maybe he was like that. Bro could not say one way or the other because he was not talking, and his tablet remained markedly free of messages. 

When the psiionic tug happens again he’s ready for it. Stepping over to the pile Bro took a knee at the intersection of a monitor box and a knitted afghan that Rose had made for him in a bout of stress-knitting. 

“How are your ports feeling?” Probably still not great. He’d put what numbing creme he could along the pilot’s skin, sprayed some nutrient salve around the area and put troll-safe lidocane patches along the guy’s flanks between his grubscars and the remainder of his insertion points and wire-wounds. Theoretically he ought to be feeling very little. 

On cue, his tablet pinged with a response tone. 

BC: Good. 

BC: Better

BC: Best.

BC: Best tech. 

BC: Numbing creme and everything. You’re treating me like a prince. 

BC: Want to pail again? 

BC: Your weird human bulge is cute. 

BC: It looks like a hairless rodent. 

BC: And I sorta want to bite it. 

BC: I’m sorry. 

BC: Thank you. 

BC: I don’t want to be alone. 

BC: What do you like to be called when you’re getting fucked? 

BC: I searched all of the human words. 

BC: I’m sorry. 

BC: My pan... 

BC: You’ve just got an ass I want to bounce a quarter off of. 

BC: I like that saying. Requires telemetry. 

Looking up from the deluge of flirtation Bro studied the pilot’s face. 

“You are either the dirtiest boy that I have ever met, or really worried that I’m gonna put hands on you for not being a fucktoy. Don’t worry about that shit. I ain’t into puppetry.” The thought took him briefly into unfun trauma town and he dug his nails into his palms to avoid the whole of it. That chapter of his life was over. They were not with those owners, he was not under that sort of behavioral directive and maybe someday Dave would forgive him. He was not holding his breath, but at very least he could use that epic string of fuckery to learn. 

His tablet was shimmering again. 

BC: Looked plenty into that shit where I was sitting. 

BC: Stiff and STRONG even. 

BC: Everyone knows that techs like to give it to the ship. You won't get in trouble and no one can hear us. You don't even have to haul my knees apart. I'll spread them for you. 

Fabric shifted softly as the pilot slid his legs open, the sheathe of his bulge pressed up and along the thin fabric of his pants. This shit was too surreal. Happily there was no spot of slurry to indicate actual interest, but the Pilot stayed splayed out, all of his soft points offered up in a practiced gesture of vulnerability.  

"Nah man. I'm telling you. Not looking for the B at the moment. Not even a little."  

Dude still had a strong salt under-tone to his skin that was filling the air where they sat, probably having to do with the pool that they had him suspended in. The mental image would have been pleasant if it were not simultaneously so stupidly sad. Sexy thoughts were not nearly as enticing when coupled with lifelong slavery. If this dude was much more work he would let Dirk handle the rest of the interacting. Out of the pair of them the kid was better at other sentient physical beings and making words. Dave would find this shit depressing and trip all over himself.  "Look, I'm not good with this, but I'm telling you. No consequences for not fucking me. I don't expect you to put down the hot moves. We're gonna fix your shit, maybe update some of your wetware so it's not touching your spinal column inappropriately and then we'll figure the rest of that shit out later okay?"

It was a little hard to tell where the Pilot was looking given the constant backlight behind his eyes. However, they focused in his general direction before the man blinked and slid one knee back into place before hooking the other leg awkwardly around his waist. Pushing the ball of his heel into Bro's back, the Pilot tugged. There were only two options. Either over-balance and come closer the way that his company wanted, or fight it and possibly get zapped. He was not afraid of pain particularly, but nothing about the gesture was sending alarm bells off in his head. He edged forward, staying perched on his knees and hands. 

BC: I'm trying to get the D right now though. 

BC: I just looked that up. D is for dick, another word for penis, male reproductive organ, you are human yes? Yeshuman. I confirmed it. 

BC: Subdermal barcode says you are from Skaia Facility 45x-13

BC: Lot number 56. Batch 4. 

BC: You are a slave like I am. 

BC: I'm sorry. 

BC: I'm sorry. 

BC: I'm so sorry. 

The whole gamut of emotion was happening in real-time text on his tablet and Bro was not entirely sure what to do about it. This dude had some issues going on, that much was obvious by looking at him, but he did not want his personal life pried out of the cold, dark hole that he had shoved it into to keep it safe.  "No need to be sorry. We all have our beginnings. We start somewhere and we end somewhere. What do I call you?"  

The question helped the dude get out of the fear and shame spiral that he seemed to drop into at a high frequency. "The Psiionic."  

That was a voice that had not been used in a good long time. It rattled and buzzed and was more felt on the back of his neck than heard. Some of the Alternians he had met who did not often speak Universal or sign had that same sort of hum to their voice. Occasionally Dave’s boyfriend got it too - when he was irritated or scared. One of his fore-fangs was a little shorter than the other one. Maybe it had gotten knocked out or maybe he had kind of fucked up teeth like he and Dirk did. They both had a problem with their back teeth coming in impacted and there was some back alley business that had to be observed to fix it. He was not one to judge dentition that was slightly askew. The fact that he had deigned to speak at all though, that was very promising.  "Cool. You already know my thoughts on how to address me."  

Talking was taking the whole possibility of further terror-fucking off of the table and this was a good thing. Stuck at an awkward angle with the dude's leg wrapped around his waist, Bro went with the path of least resistance and settled himself forward onto The Psiionic's ribs. The feeling of being gently loved by a lightning storm took him over again. The small hairs at the nape of his neck reached skyward and his shades flickered, displeased at the electronic fluctuations occurring around them. "You looking for paps dude? Or what? You've got a leg around me and I think you could legit kill me with your brain, so I am going to need a clue rather than trying to run away from you." 

"You're warm." The statement was a high contrast to what had been happening on the tablet. It sounded very carefully considered and precisely worded. Most notably it was not a request for further contact but an observation about temperature. "Yeah. That is a thing that I am. Homeostasis is a favorite human pastime." Kicking a box out from under his leg so that his knee was no longer dug into a corner of it, Bro settled.

"I like it." The pilot closed his eyes to slits, seeming to draw into himself and lose some of the frenetic energy that had peppered their interactions so far.

"It didn't seem to be warm on your ship. Set to highblood temperatures?"  

The pilot's eyebrows raised a fraction but he did not otherwise dignify the question with a response in either medium that he had expressed willingness to use. It felt bizarre to be the chatty one in comparison to another person. Fully out of his depth and conversational topics, Bro pulled out a tablet and flattened it along his helmsman's chest, using the slight tilt of the pile to his advantage. The screen was at an angle that kept the glare off of the place he needed to work. They could speak further, later. 


	4. Chapter 4

**[Meenah]**

 

When she pushed her claws out into water it was a relief. She was so new that she barely could be called a whole troll and have it ring true. The water did not have harsh edges to bend her hardening layers. There were no rocks or edges to bump against. Instead she spilled forward and out of her casing into the gentle hold of the water. Her lungs burned and she coughed painfully for a few moments. There was a chemical tang to whatever she was breathing in - it did not feel like the ocean at home. No schools of fish passed over her head nor was there grit and sand swirling beneath her. Her hair was fucking everywhere and that would have to be seen to -- when she was less of a target she would find someone to help her braid it. Maybe Aranea was around? Time and a sense of where she was remained fuzzy. 

There was someone else in the tank with her. Balling up with her fins flared and her claws hooked out, she waited to see if the troll would aggress.

He sat on the other side of the tank, hair stupidly long for a lower-lord. It shimmered and flowed around him like seaweed, half obscuring him from view and the ambient landscaping of the tank doing the rest. Seadwellers did not hide. Perhaps he was afraid of her though. This was a correct thing to think, she was pretty coddamn ferocious.

Minutes crawled by and he did nothing, only watched her from his weed-hiding spot and sat like a boring rock. Quietly, she glubbed a hello, shining the lights along her forearms in a warning pattern. They seemed higher contrast than she remembered. Holding her hands up she stared -- this was her adult color. Where was she? When she had gone to sleep last she was still on Alternia. Things jumbled around in her pan -- screaming soldiers, stars, time. All of it made her head hurt terribly so she put all those thoughts to the side, not to be glanced at again. Unballing so her plates would not stick in a hunched position she floated quietly, observing her surroundings and waiting to see what this place would bring her. 

She had hatched into a new world that she did not remember coming to.

 

**[Dave]**

Docking had taken entirely too long for his or Karkat’s taste. After the last scouting mission they had undertaken as a group the _Void Walker’s_ coupling mechanisms had been damaged. Until they found replacements or could jury-rig something else, docking took triple the time that it ought to. Given that the alternative was to expel the breathable atmosphere into space and for everyone to suffocate, it was worth the wait. DS kept him updated on a side window of his tablet, his attention not needed for any sort of movements of their ship. Keeping a synchronous orbit with the BSC was simple enough.

 

TG: i think that being stuck in med while Karkat is physically in my proximity is actually hell

TG: fire, brimstone, biblical shit and little red beings poking me with forks hell

TG: read about that place and it sounds accurate

DS: pshhhh

DS: it wont be that much longer. they are almost coupled and then he will be hobbling his ass down the hall to come and see you and its going to be gross and perfect.

DS: you both can be damaged organics together

TG: yeah

TG: its true -- i just don’t like being unable to be up to check on him.

DS: Roxy will probably bring some of the extra medical equipment over so you can actually get up and move around again.

DS: seemed like the best plan to have the surgical suite with the people that know how to use it.

DS: i think Jane is still up and around so she can have a looksee too.

TG: as long as it doesnt stress her too much. her hands have been doing the thing

DS: shhhh we dont talk about that

Dave folded his hands across his chest and closed his eyes. Davesprite was right of course. They did not talk about the giant looming scary thing that no one could do anything about. Thank you clone fucking development team from Facility 45x-motherfucking 13. Thanks for shitty genetic design and shoddy workmanship regarding the holding facilities for new individuals.  If someone had actually bothered to maintain the vessels for new infants then maybe said technicians would have caught the sickness that was spreading like a slow growing vine through all of his friends and family. He wondered if it was in him too. There was no way to check - they did not have the equipment to test for it, much less the ability to treat it those tests came back positive. The ships they had escaped with came installed with crisis-pods that allowed for long cold sleep and that was the best answer for the moment. There was a field-surgery arch on the _Void Walker,_ but it was designed for emergency triage. More than likely he had known said arch’s sterile embrace while they put his bones back in his leg in the correct configuration. _The Legendary Piece Of Shit_  had a bigger cargo hold. They had repurposed it from a drop ship into a transport space. After a year or so of leveraging Kanaya and Karkat’s colorful network of friends they amassed enough income to actually make the interiors of both ships reasonably livable.

Instead of getting to enjoy all of that, some of their family were sleeping until they could buy, borrow, or steal the necessary tech to make a lab. Roxanne was good enough at biotech that she could probably fabricate gene therapy or at least help one of their med-tech friends take a crack at it. Roxy was in the process of decrypting the make-data from their facility. It included their genome and some of the notes on the process by which they were configured. The data itself was damaged and it was a slow process. Some of it needed to be augmented and that process had to be done in careful and targeted attacks to the company’s servers. 

Either way, they did not have the starting materials and it was teeth-grindingly frustrating. All of the wrecks that they had salvaged recently held more in the way of salable parts than science equipment. The general rando at open market generally was keen to purchase weapon-arrays. They deeply enjoyed cross-viable couplers and other small parts, but there was not a great demand for lab-equipment. As such, there was not a great deal in the open markets to barter for. The companies that sold the right sort of goods tracked the distribution of said equipment. The amount of money in bribes they would need was another complicating factor.

They all collectively ignored the fact that Dirk sometimes slept on the floor in front of Jake’s station, or read him old-earth poetry off of one of their spare tablets in a whisper-soft voice. Jake’s face was tranquil underneath the heavy plating of his pod, even if the skin under his eyes was blotched bruise-dark. Deep in oxygen-saturated liquids, he rested safe and far away from the pain and harmful effects of their ailment. Dave usually stayed on the _Void Walker_ with Karkat, and he had spent an appreciable amount of time at vigil in front of the place where John was resting. All of them knew that it was pointless and all of them stayed with their friends anyway.

It was simply what you did.

Karkat would be into his room soon enough and they could catch up with things. He would not have to think about things like tremors or hallucinations. Instead he could bump his nose against his boyfriend’s stupid, adorable little horns and hear him make his weird joyous insect noises. The universe for a few minutes would be nice. They could have nice things.

Of course his next visitor was not the one he expected, nor physically in the room with him. Jade popped up on his tablet, her eyes wide like full moons in the reflected light of her own screen. “ **DAVE** **Dave dave** dave!”

Turning his head abruptly and glancing at her he arched his brows over the edges of his shades. “Yeah. It is me. You have reached Dave. Dave is now looking directly at you. What’s going on?” It was not often that Jade chose to vid-chat versus text at him.The abrupt eruption of her voice from the vicinity of his elbow had started him, but fucking everything did. It was one of the reasons that he had been designated a lower-tier asset. ‘Does not have the temperament for combat’ had been the dispassionate assessment of one of the trainers. Temperament his ass, he had worked harder than all of his other siblings at the facility to get better.

“The egg hatched! It wasn’t an egg at actually! It was a cocoon. I’ve never seen one up close because it was a late-state molt and it’s really rare to see outside of a cohort situation specifically with other trolls. You don’t care about any of that but the point is there is a straight up tyrian Alternian troll in our hangar!”

“I’m going to need you to slow your roll for two seconds. Remind me what tyrian means again?” Dave really did not care anything about the science experiment off of the hellship that had displaced the jerk finface troll they had been transporting as a favor.  In fact said jerk had arranged for a pickup in their interim and fucked off to parts unknown. Unaware of what they were getting near, the taxiing ship had left shortly after picking up Karkat’s friend and avoided any deep investigation of the derelict. Either that or their helmsman was superstitious and wanted no part of it. Dave could not say that he blamed anyone sharing that line of thought because it was his too. They still had one passenger remaining. Some seatroll that had some low fucking standards for the caste and weird trident-tattoos on the back of his neck and his wrists. 

“They’re the ones that are on top of the hemospectrum. Actually it’s super strange for her to be alone. You would expect that there ought to be escorting generals. They are super rare in the population and they have a lot of weird powers. It’s like Feferi! Only I think this one’s likely to be really old-school Alternian so a lot of fangs and really weird speaking cadence? That’s also probably how the drone got on the ship...” Jade fiddled with some of the braided rings on her fingers. She made friendship bracelets and other small fibercraft when she felt too ill to work on science. He could practically hear the capital ‘S’ in science in her voice when she talked about it. 

“The fuck?! Did Dirk and Rose fight it? How come there weren’t sirens?” Dave felt his back lock up in cold terror at the mention of the drone. He had only seen one once while Karkat brokered a sale for them. The drone stood heads taller than any of his family and was decked out in spines and things that were slender enough to look like hair but were too stiff. Everything about them was alien and discomforting. They made a noise that sounded like engines running coupled with the thin whine of mosquitoes too close to his ear. 

“No? It came in and bothered Bro a little and then walked out again. I was so confused when I caught DS’s alerts for it. It set up a localized transport directly into the ship. Which means that the big ship is not nearly as broken as we thought if the jump tech is still up.” Jade’s fingers danced at the bottom of her window, flying along the surface of her tablet. “I’m trying to figure out what it wanted. Hal’s helping but the computers on the BSG are still speaking alien gibberish. I think they’re broken. It’s just a cascade of error messages.” 

“Is Dirk helping or did he go to fluff up the defenses on the ship?” Part of him hoped that it was the former rather than the later. The idea of alien murder-behemoths on their home made his stomach roll. Jade was functionally a better structural engineer out of their group of tech-savvy family members and Dirk had a better mind for computer-logic; but he would prefer that Dirk was making sure that nothing else made an unexpected visit, particularly given that they were physically attached to the only other means of escape that their group had. For that matter he hoped that Roxy and everyone were safe as well. Pulling up another message he shot one over to her.

 

TG: hey uh, just checking in. everything cool over there

TG: yea bae. everything’s aight

TG: something on ur mind 2 make you worry?

TG: there was a drone on our ship

TG: and somehow bro did not piss himself and die

TG: no one died which is super excellent given that space is a cold and unforgiving mistress and likes to take away all of our nice things kind of like trainer devos or something. lady with the super pinched face like she smelled something really bad

TG: its gone now...but i just wanted to make sure that you were all right

TG: safe and secure bro

TG: we have the security sitch on lockdown tho that is some seriours shit

TG: shouldn’t be much alive on the ol monstrosity over there

TG: you made sure to filter for biologicals rite?

TG: davey? 

Dave felt a strange curling in his stomach and his mouth felt dry. Something from walking the halls had come forward in his mind and terror was filtering steadily through his brain. Jade had stopped typing and was looking at him over the video feed. “Dave, what’s wrong?”

 

**[Bro]**

Dirk stepped into his workspace with the same efficient abruptness that instructed all of his movements. Turning and staring at the ancient troll in his pile Dirk scanned the situation and returned his attention to Bro. “We have a situation.”

Bro looked up from the small mapping he had been drawing out on his tablet. If it was one that could be solved by discussion Dirk would not have come in person. “That situation being?”

Dirk’s shoulders squared back as he prepared to fall into action. They shared a behavior-mapping program as well as an identical gene-set. The facility had hoped that they both would make excellent additions to mercenary or army strategos. Bro straightened up in response, mirroring and matching Dirk’s urgency.

“Dave thinks that the helmsman and the cocoon that we onboarded may have brought biologicals on board. I don’t know if we filtered and scanned for everything that we should have in the rush to get Dave on. My suggestion would be that we run everyone through what diagnostic equipment we do have and do our best to do a ship-wide decomp.”

Bro’s mind was racing with possibility even as his fingers hit some of the command-prompts on the ship. They were too far out. The energy cost along with the gaps in their filters were not going to be something that they could adjust against. The nearest station was at least a week out. That was assuming that they even got past an onboarding-check. Anything that would have a large enough mediplex to support a contamination issue would also ping on the fact that they were a group of escapees. Safe harbor would be two weeks out. Bribes to get through to those sectors of space would dip into their budget dangerously.

“Beyond all of that --because trust me I know what you’re thinking about-- the other issue is that the cocoon opened. We have an adult tyrian troll in our cargo bay.” Dirk’s arms were locked tight over his chest, and he shifted from one foot to another in an attempt to do something with all of his energy. When they had a purpose, when they had something to aim all of that intensity at the pair of them were unstoppable. It would simply be a question of what to aim for.

At his side the pilot had gone still in his pile. His claws were curled forward in tight fists, one hand clutching a blanket and the other having crushed a box. The cadence of his eyes strobed fast in the way that it had prior - a tangible tell of his emotional state. Other than that he continued to carry out his best imitation of a piece of furniture; inert, mute and dumb. Bro could only take a guess at what it would be like to have senses encompassing the scope of a dreadnaught and then to suddenly be stripped down to the somatic experience of an individual. Bro had never been patient with neurosis or coping mechanisms; neither his own nor those of others. “What was in the cocoon?”

The pilot stared forward at a fixed angle, clenching his jaw.

“Pilot. I asked a question. What was in the cocoon located in the southern strata of the ship?”

The Psiionic remained still, his lips curling slightly upward in irritation. When the answer finally escaped him it was tinted through with a threat-buzz and an underlying menace that belied the personal phrasing. “My Condescension.”

Dirk caught it first. “You are talking about the stellar terror. Feferi’s predecessor. That Condescension. Drowner of worlds. Mistress of the Orphaners.” The Psiionic’s fingers tightened and Bro could hear the bones in his hands creak. Closing his eyes, the pilot refused to further communicate. Glancing between them, Dirk fairly radiated incredulity. “But that bitch is DEAD.” Something about his outburst broke the tension in the room like a bubble and the snorting laugh from the pile only amplified the absurdity of it.

Dirk shook his head. “I think we’re a bit confused and we need to reassess.”

Bro ignored the pair of them, pulling his tablet out and running surveillance footage. Instead of an oddly flat object floating in murky water their holding tank contained a tangle of hair. Their new addition had the deep pitch exo-plating of an adult Alternian coupled with the freaky moving hair that some of the aquatic-types had. It was a long standing dream of his to get one on the table and look into the mechanism behind that- whether the movement was psi based or if there were scalp protrusions that caused the effect. Saying anything of the sort out loud likely amounted to treason and he refrained on the Psiionic's behalf. Behavior protocols on pilots were all over the charts, and depending how hard they had worked his pilot over the Psiionic might be inclined to get testy.

Hal and Davesprite sprung up along his glasses and tablet respectively- offering charts, extra views, and commentary.

AR: As he is fallible and organic Dirk is wrong in this instance. 

DS: yeah no for sure and sensors confirm so its real and everything - that bitch is totally alive

AR: we could fix that if we space her. 

AR: That would also have the unfortunate consequence of spacing our passenger though. 

AR: He is worth a considerable amount of currency to the person that we are delivering him to.

AR: Also strictly speaking that violates our ‘don’t kill sapient beings without meatspace override’ directives.  

AR: Working to confirm whether or not it is ‘Sea Hitler’.

DS: that would be some crazy shit if it were 

DS: other ships in the area are going real quiet like everyone suddenly pointed out the fact that we have a terrible physical deformity in company or something 

DS: think that there is something up in that, trying to find out what 

AR: There are programming restrictions in place, I doubt that this will be a productive use of our time.  

“The boys say you are wrong. Bitch is one-hundred percent alive.”

AR: Did not confirm it. Probability of it being so is simply climbing. Dirk can see what you see so don’t misquote me. 

“Regardless of whether it is Empress TAD or some rando, we are not prepared to have another troll on board. We did not account for biologicals with her coming and we do not have burst-options to get where we are headed anywhere faster than we are going now.” 

DS: Tits Ass and Destruction. Pfff

AR: Already working on the filters. 

AR: Remember that recommended maintenance that we all communally ignored a second ago? 

AR: Yeah, about that.

Dirk pushed away at the console that he had come to insistently, pulling up system information. “Yeah. About that for sure. Of course it was my stupid fault bringing that shit onboard in the first place, but Dave’s bone was sticking out of his leg and I just. I fucked up.”

Bro let Dirk go because he had fucked up. That bit of carelessness was having repercussions. There was not time to indulge his self deprecation. “Old news. Now we fix it.” The reports that were coming up were the real reason for concern. After Feferi had taken the throne certain standards had been established for inter-species contact, particularly regarding vaccination and quarantine procedures. Pressing his mouth into a tight line, Bro tried not to let the sense of panic that was clawing at the back of his throat rise up.

“Give me a list of people who have been in direct contact with either our pilot, the cocoon, or the new troll.”

Davesprite’s voice came over one of the consoles. They had adjusted his tone and frequency slightly to make him distinct from Dave. His was a slightly higher tenor, flirting with androgyny. 

“Dirk, Dave and yourself. Jade was not feeling well and watched remotely while we loaded in the extra passenger. Hatori Souhma is the passenger in the cargo-tank. He also has been exposed to the new individual and possibly old contaminants.”

Bro nodded. “Executive order Alpha. Jade does not cross out of the threshold of her quarters. I authorize you to disregard her overrides. If she tries to bypass either yourself or Hal I want to know immediately.”

Hal’s voice overlaid Davesprite’s as they answered in tandem. “Confirm.”

A message from Karkat blinked insistently on the edge of his screen and he tapped it. The troll stared at him through his riot of curls, fore-fangs showing in a hint of a threat display.  “I’ve been sitting here with my fingers up my shoot for a while now Strider. Are you thinking that it would be appropriate for me to come in any time soon? Or perhaps will I have to sit and wait here a while longer, contemplating the vast abyss and how maybe it would have been better had I thrown myself into it rather than embark out on this venture with the lot of you star-simians?”

Bro shook his head. “You can’t come onboard right now. There’s been a cockup with the docking mechanism. Head back over to _Void Walker_ and I’ll tell you when it’s fixed.”

Karkat snorted in irritation, hands resting on his hips and his claws biting into the material of his flight-suit. “You could have fucking said something about twenty minutes ago. And maybe told Dave while you were at it.”

Bro let the unpleasant expression that passed for a smile touch the corners of his mouth. “What fun would that be?” He tipped his hat to Karkat and closed the video feed. Shortly thereafter the shuttle acting as a relay between their ships moved back over to safety. Dirk shook his head.

“He’s going to be pissed when he finds out that you lied.”

“Better pissed than dead.”


End file.
